


The Night Guard

by tran_quill



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Golden shower, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Ramsay is his own warning, Throbb what Throbb no Throbb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-10 03:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10428528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tran_quill/pseuds/tran_quill
Summary: Chains are cold at first, then they warm against your body.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When the Northmen had taken back Winterfell, Theon's sister had pleaded and bargained for his life.
> 
> Years have passed, peace is back, and the ironborn had turn merchants under queen Asha. Theon state has improved, at least physically. But well...
> 
> Mostly bookverse and inspired by the movie The Night Porter.

« It's no so bad when people welcome you smiling instead of jumping overboard, screaming in terror, japed Dagmer Cleftjaw. Why did I wait so long to become a merchant ? »

« Because if Queen Asha catch you pirating now she's bound to finish the job on your face with her axe, bawled Herrick Pyke. Times have changed. »

Theon's men burst out laughing. He smiled, flashing his golden teeth. They were all richly dressed in silk and samite. But on closer look they had weathered faces due to years of reaving, and axes and knives slid in their belts.

Their ships had entered the port with the afternoon tide, loaded with saffron and other precious spices brought from the far east, paid with the gold price. Well, most of it. They were lodged in a vast and comfortable inn near the port, full of travelers from all over Essos.

They sat outside a winesink in Old Volantis, drinking Arbor wine, as befit honest merchants. The place was boisterous and fulled with sailors, traders and sellswords.

Theon felt peaceful and hazy, just nursing his drink, when Rolf Longhorn shocked his cup on the table and got up all of a sudden, toppling his seat.

« Let's go to some other place now, I wanna taste the Volantene whores before I roll under the table! »

Theon's smile wore out suddenly. _I should have known._ He got up clumsily, excused himself and went for the door. Cleftjaw asked if he needed to be escorted to the inn, he declined silently.

_Neither do I need you to escort me when I go to piss. Especially that, as I need to sit for it now. ___

_They know. They know, all of them._

He went out in the hot and sweaty evening and walked down to the inn.

******

Now that he was astray, all by himself, the jolly crowd swarming in the narrow streets felt ominous to Theon.

Swarthy men with knives in their belt jostled his frail shape, lewd women in scanty silks rubbed against him, and the laughs, the shouts, all the din was overwhelming. They were all tightening around him, threatening to crush him, reviling him in strange languages. 

In his haste to reach the shelter of his room he bumped into somebody, who seized him angrily by the collar. The man was shorter than Theon but surprisingly tough, an oarsman probably. He shoved Theon to the ground and kicked him roughly. 

And Theon stayed there benumbed, unable to even lift a hand to protect his face.

The crowd roared. A woman even spit in his face. Somebody teared at his garments, baring a shoulder. He heard a sailor asking, in a crude mix of ghiscari and common tongue, what kind of slave he was. In Essos, only slaves were marked. And Theon had a hideous design hewn in his flesh: a man upside down on a big bloody cross, grinning. 

Curious eyes rested on him, fingers pointing. Then all of a sudden the rabble scattered and left him lying in the gutter, forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

When Theon finally found his way back to the inn it was late at night. He was relieved to see that the vast building on the waterfront was asleep. 

He just wanted to be alone in the safety of his room. Since his captivity the open places, especially the crowded ones, could be terrifying to him and it had been wrong to part with his ironborn. 

He crossed the hall, dimly lit and empty save for a janitor half asleep under his cowl behind a trestle table. He knew it would be very difficult to sleep after the incident, so he called to the man to bring him a pitcher of wine, the strongest he could find. The wretch jumped at that and answered with a grunt.

Theon let the door of his room open and slumped wearily on the bed. He was tired to the bones, but he knew he wouldn't find sleep without the wine. He would toss and turn till dawn, thinking of his fear when alone in the streets. Each time he thought his life was improving he was taken back to the feeble, boneless thrall he had been years ago. Happiness was only a façade he showed to his queen sister and his men.

He was lost in his bitter thoughts when he realised a long time had passed and the man hadn't brought the wine. The lout had probably drank it himself and was snoring on his table. He cursed him but he was too tired to get up and decided to do without the wine. 

He was half asleep when he heard a faint shuffle. There was someone in the gallery, just without the room.

There was a soft knock on the door. « Enter ». He heard a tinkle, then a short silence and the door opened slowly, revealing two hands holding a flagon and a cup. Two small, delicate hands. A girl appeared, almost a child, with doe eyes shining behind a mop of thick black hair. Her lithe body was clad in revealing silks, Past Theon would have thrown her abed at once. Present Theon could only stare when her hair parted and showed tears rolling down her face.

Tears that were forever flowing: they were tattooed on her face. A slave. In Volantis all whores were slaves and bore tear tattoos. Theon's throat tightened. 

« Who sent you ?   
\- The night guard, he said you needed the strongest wine and the softest girl »  
When she talked she didn't sound like a girl, more like a well trained, jaded creature going through the motion. She has no choice, no choice at all. No more than...

« Sorry I'm tired, I'll take the wine, that's all. »  
But the slave stayed there, staring at him.

« He chose me for you because I'm very soft and patient.  
\- Leave me alone. 

\- There are many unsullied who come to the brothels, the whore insisted, careless. I know what they want, she crooned, even if they have no man parts, they still have a man's heart.  
\- W... what ?  
\- He told me...  
-Who told you ? What ?  
\- The night guard, he told me he knew about your special needs, that he knew you very well. »

An icy thrill crept along Theon's back.

« Get out. »

She put the flagon and cup on the table and slunk out of the room.

« Wait. Wait, that guard... What colour are his eyes ?  
\- Dirt grey, m'lord. »  
She had stopped pretending and looked very afraid now.

Theon shut the door behind her and turned the key hastily.  
Despite the wine, his night was full of nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red King's seat became as high as the Iron Throne, but made of human bones instead of swords, and the tapestries behind the throne were human skins still adorned with shreds of rotten flesh. His feet rested on bloody wolves pelts, the wolf heads with their maw open and their wizened tongues lolling. The jagged spades of his crown were carved in the form of flaying knives, each capped with a garnet like a drop of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept the song from the movie the Night Porter (If I could wish for something, from Friedrich Holländer) because I found the lyrics matched with my story. Even if I couldn't make poor Reek sing it himself :).

When Dagmer woke him up next morning to go break their fast Theon felt tense and weary.  
His body walked down the stairs, but his mind was elsewhere, still locked up in his terrible dreams.

The vast hall was busy with travelers and slaves, the morn was sunny and fresh. There was no trace of the night guard. 

The ironborn had planned to set sail on the morrow. They went to the guildhall to receive payment for their goods then to the quay to load their merchant ships again. Theon stayed with his men at all times and after supper they got back to the inn together, having to wake up early.

It was nightfall and the vast hall was still crowded and alight with candles. 

The man was there, hidden beneath his roughspun cowl, speaking to a group of tyroshi sailors. As Theon walked to the stairs surrounded, protected by his men, he could feel his eyes on his back. _I'm going insane. If I can look at his face my fears will turn to dust._

He couldn't bring himself to look back. Instead he locked himself up in his room again. He had drunk enough wine and was tired enough to fall asleep. On the morrow they would all leave Volantis behind. 

He was almost asleep when he heard a knock on the door.

His heart skipped a beat, he jumped and banged his head on the wall.

Dagmer Cleftjaw's voice asked if he was alright.  
Yes, yes, I'm alright, as always.

« The night boy gave us the best address in Volantis to spend our last night, are you coming with us? »

****

Theon was profoundly asleep. His golden teeth were lying on a small table with his silken gloves. The three fingers hand was naked. In the light of the tallow candle, his stumps looked like they were rotten from greyscale.

The empty bottle had rolled by his mangled hand. A few drops of wine glistened like blood on the floor. Wine was not enough to escape his memories, and this night like each night took him back to the North.

In his dream he was limping again across the great hall of Winterfell. Soiled breeches floated on his bony hips, held by leather straps across his skinny torso. His fevered eyes hid behind brittle white hair.

As soon as Lord Bolton was gone with his men, Lord Ramsay has put himself in his stead in Ned Stark's high seat. His boys were under him on the dais, drinking and guzzling the last of the castle fare, served and entertained by some measly camp followers.

To Reek the Boys had beastly faces in the hearth's red light, the women were terrifiying creatures and the sound of music was beating on his temples. He was so starved his head was spinning, the scent of food was so pervasive it covered his own stench. He had to refrain from snatching the bones they threw to the dogs. Lord Ramsay wouldn't like that.

A woman sang. A whore, obviously, and she was hopelessly bad at it. But in times of war it didn't matter to the men-at-arms who sat on the benches in the dreary castle.

 _When we were still faceless_  
_No one asked us_  
_If we'd prefer to live or die_

 _Now I wander alone in a big city,_  
_and I don't know if he's in love with me_  
_I look into the rooms through doors and windows,_  
_and I wait and I wait for something_

 _If I could wish for something_  
_I would feel awkward_  
_What should I wish for,_  
_a bad or a good time_

 _If I could wish for something_  
_I'd want to be only a bit happy_  
_because if I were too happy_  
_I'd long for being sad._

Winterfell never had a fool under grim Ned Stark, but now Reek tried his best to entertain the guests just by being itself. Thanks to his missing toes his gait resembled a clumsy dance.

He went to serve the Boys, trying to hold the plate upright. They made crass gestures hinting at how each of them had raped the creature, and the usual japes about Reek reeking. But it was old news. Anyway the Boys were crueler when he was alone in their charge, and the cruelest of them seemed to be gone with Lord Bolton. He glanced anxiously at his master.

Lord Ramsay snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor beside him. 

In Reek's nightmare Lord Ramsay's seat became as high as the Iron Throne, but made of human bones instead of swords, and the tapestries behind the throne were human skins still adorned with shreds of rotten flesh. The Red King's feet rested on bloody wolves pelts, the wolf heads with their maw open and their wizened tongues lolling. The jagged spades of his crown were carved in the form of flaying knives, each capped with a garnet like a drop of blood.

Reek knew he was dreaming yet could not escape the vision. Lord Ramsay pointed to a box on the table and the Boys burst out laughing.

« I have a gift for you, my sweet Reek. »

A terrible fear paralyzed him as Ramsay was opening the box with an agonizing slowness. He plunged his hand inside and seized a strand of hair. 

In another life the Stark's ward had betrayed his king and friend, and Robb had his direwolf's head sewn onto his beheaded body. Reek knew Lord Ramsay will force him to kiss the lips of his king, swarming with maggots as they were. He tried desperately to wake up.

Lord Ramsay had fixed him with his pale eyes, his thick lips smiled, moist with spittle.  
« It's for you, don't you dare look elsewhere, or I'll flay your eyes too. »  
His lord's voice was soft, and to Reek's horror for the first time ever he saw his smile spread to the rest of his face, even to his cold cold eyes. Seeing Lord Ramsay genuinely happy suffocated Reek, he gasped and tried to put his hands to his neck, always looking at the head emerging slowly from the box.

« He will never hurt you again, my love. » 

The dead eyes of Skinner were deader still, now that iron spikes had pricked them. Though he had no more tongue, no teeth left, and his face had been half flayed, Reek could still recognize the torturer. Sometimes Lord Ramsay would order Skinner to flay Reek's fingers, sometimes he preferred to do the deed himself. Since he's been sufficiently broken to serve and obey at all times, Lord Ramsay had forbidden his boys to flay or maim his pet, but Skinner would always take small patches of skin each time his lord was away. Reek was terrified of Skinner and flaying but didn't dare complain to his master.

For real, it was a beautiful gift. Reek remembered a sweet evening on his knees, being fed from his master's own plate, Lord Ramsay toying gently with his matted greasy hair.

Theon was half awake in his bed, drenched in sweat and his head still turning from the wine, when he realized that the door to his room was slightly open.  
The candle had gone out and the room was dark. A wan grey light diffused from the gallery's lead windows. Theon fumbled and found his golden teeth, put them back, slipped his silk gloves on and limped to the door wearing only his shift. He spied outside. The gallery was empty, there was no sign of the ironborn and the inn was silent. Theon pushed the door, turned the key and went back to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Then he heard it, a faint sound. Somebody was breathing. He was not alone in the room.

A candle went alight, showing two cups and a pitcher. The janitor was standing behind the table with his head lowered, his roughspun cowl blending with the curtains. He poured wine in the two cups, his hand sure and steady. Theon stood still, spellbound. The man raised his head to drink from one of the cups and the hood slipped down to his shoulders.

Theon bounded desperately for the door. The other man jumped on him silently, quick as a hound, and seized a skinny ankle. Theon slithered on the floor, but he was dragged rearwards irresistibly, away from the door. The beast crawled onto his prey, crashed him under his weight and seized him roughly by the hair.

Theon struggled with all his might, squirming and wriggling under the smothering bulk. The man chuckled softly in his ear, panting. His breath smelled of wine and spices. Suddenly something cold and sharp pushed against Theon's throat. He went limp forthwith. 

The man pulled his head violently and bashed it repeatedly on the hard floor. Fear cut off his breath.

Then he released him for an instant. Theon began to crawl slowly to the door, leaving a bloody trail. He got on his knees, reached the knob and pulled it feebly. The door was locked, he remembered. 

A brutal hand seized him by the ankles and dragged him again through the room. The man lifted Theon's shift, kicked his skinny legs open and fell on him with all his weight. He fumbled with his breeches between the two of them, pushed his hard cock against him and poked about for Theon's hole.

He felt his cheeks opened roughly and his bony hips lifted. His raper didn't even use spit and it hurt like being skinned from the inside, tearing him apart anew. Theon's gold teeth bit into the man's hand. The two of them wriggled on the floor like fighters, grunting and panting. It didn't take long for the beast to spend his seed inside him with a few knockdown blows. 

The knife was at his throat again and Ramsay's threatening, malign voice filled his ear. « Try to call for help and I kill you. Slowly and painfully. I'll take you tongue out first. »

Joining act to threat, Ramsay seized the golden teeth and threw them away, then slipped his fingers in Theon's mouth and tore at his tongue. Slaver and blood dribbled from his mouth and he raised a trembling hand. Ramsay released him and grabbed his hair, pulling him to his knees. Hot seed and blood ran along his thighs.

He kept his eyes down and only saw a leather boot and black breeches, then the boot went up and crashed several times on the golden teeth, beating them flat. Ramsay forced him to look up and meet his cold grey eyes.

« Don't fret, your squid wet nurses won't be back before dawn, they're having a good time on the other side of town. The kind of good time you need no more. » He laughed.

He lifted him effortlessly and threw him on the bed. Suddenly he was enclosed in sinewy arms. Reek felt at home.

****

The Volantene night was hot and they were both sweaty, but Reek could only clutch at the other man like he had when it was a case of life or death. The Dreadfort dungeons had been so dank that he had no choice then but to snuggle up against his torturer to absorb just a little bit of his body heat. Lord Ramsay was always hot and moist after working on his Reek. Sometimes, like just now, he would hold him and stroke his brittle hair and Reek knew there will be no pain. At least for a little while. He had learned to read his master very well, and Lord Ramsay was just and fair he found. Except...

« You left me to rot in the dark cell again, with the rats. After all your promises, you left me to die alone, why ? »  
The words came out unbidden, in a feeble, tremulous voice, Reek's voice.

« I saved your life, ungrateful shit. What do you think the northmen would have done to Ramsay's bitch if they found you in my chambers ? At least I gave you a chance to live. And how far could I have escaped with a cripple in tow ? »

Asha _saved my life._ She _bargained for my life,_ thought Theon. Then he drowned into Reek's mind.

« Thank you m'lord. It was very kind of you. » 

Ramsay's hands tightened suddenly around his neck. « I'm not a lord anymore, I'm a nobody. I lost everything I had and I'm a fugitive. But don't think I'll go easier on you, Reek. »

Ramsay got up quickly and locked his icy eyes on him.

« Do you know the Long Bridge ? » Reek nodded. « Meet me near the first pile today at nightfall. I won't come back here. As for your face, finish the wine, my sweet Reek, nobody will be surprised a drunkard like you fell off his bed. »

The night guard put his hood back and opened the door with his key. He didn't bother to close it behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

At nightfall, Theon stopped before a merchant stall on the Long Bridge. After the sweltering day, well-off volantene people came out in droves under the coloured lanterns to enjoy a sweet evening. With slaves to carry their purchase, so many slaves. 

The stall was filled with unknown flowers from the east, their perfumes all merged in a heady fragrance. Theon chose a simple crown of white flowers and wrapped it in a white cloth.

He saw Ramsay coming from afar, a man in the crowd, no different from many others. He was all in grey linen, breeches and doublet and was wearing a hood. It didn't feel right in the peaceful scenery. He should have come with a frozen cold, a smell of dogs and blood in a gloomy dungeon. 

But even so, two curious grey eyes were looking him up and down. Ramsay's face hadn't changed much, less meaty maybe. His Reek has, though, judging by the cool look that detailed him. Theon was still thin but had gained some weight by eating well, and his hair had grown black again. Except for a lone white wisp on the front. This one had appeared overnight with his first finger flaying. Ramsay touched it, and smiled. 

« I left a letter to say I was going back to the Islands, m'l... master. They're used to my being moody anyway. They sailed away in the afternoon, going east. I'm alone.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be longer I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay is a troubled young man.

The once mighty son of the warden of the North lived in a squalid part of town far from the sea breeze, in a dim and grimy little room. The rest of the house hosted free but poor people with sniveling children. 

_No way to kill bitches and hide their skinned bodies here, my lord._

Reek went down onto his knees and presented his gift, with a toothless smile.

Ramsay took the flowery crown and considered it for a moment, a sly look in his eyes. Then he put it delicately on Reek's head.

He went to a corner of the room and Reek heard him rummage through the tatters that were his only possessions left. A rude hand grasped his neck and the leather collard clasped, half strangling him.

_How nice of you to have kept it all the way to Essos, my lord._

He was forced on his feet and Ramsay embraced him violently, claiming his mouth in a deep moist kiss. He smelled him, buried his nose in his neck and hair, sniffed him like a hound. He didn't seem satisfied. _Was he ever ?_

« Down! » He pulled on the collar to lay Reek on the floor, unlaced his own breeches and pissed on him at length, drenching him and his clothes in his musky scent. Then he took off his own clothes and threw them away in a hurry, and sat on the floor with Reek in his lap, enclosed in his arms. He touched him everywhere and checked the whip marks on his back, the vicious cuts on his breast and all the loving marks he had left on his broken pet. His big hands searched between the skinny legs, into the nothingness of Reek, where he stroked and pinched lightly.

_If you wanted me to feel something down there, maybe you shouldn't have taken everything, my lord._

Ramsay snapped as if he has read his thoughts. He slapped him, just enough to cut his upper lip.

*****

A long time ago, when he had met Lord Ramsay for the first time, there had been rage and hatred. That didn't last long. 

Then came fear. Fear of pain, of the rack disjointing his arms, of the whip ripping up his skin and flesh, of the knife drinking his blood. 

Then the flaying began. He screeched and screeched and twitched and crazed in pain. 

Then came a bigger fear. The terror of being flayed again.

Then relief, because obeying meant no more flaying.

There was still pain sometimes, and infinite debasement, and hunger, and cold. Reek knew somehow he deserved everything, and found solace in that.

What he couldn't comprehend was the madman. He understood using Theon to assert his position. He understood torture. He knew Ramsay found pleasure in it. He knew from the first night, when he felt his manhood pressed against him hard as his knife. He always knew he would be raped. And he had been, in every way, by the boys and by Ramsay too. Ramsay's boys where cruel and brutish, and just wanted to assert some power over the wretched creature. This he could understand.

But Ramsay, there was something else, a possessiveness, a desire, a want to make Reek all his that didn't make sense. Why would anybody want to possess a lowly stinky creature, lower than a dog, a worm in human skin ? Why even keep him alive? 

Reek's greatest fear was that he couldn't understand what Ramsay wanted of him. 

*****

One day Lord Ramsay came to the kennels with a short chain around his hand. Reek knew the game. Since Moat Cailin there had been no more torture. Just the occasional beating, a mercy. Now Lord Ramsay delighted in playing sick games, like treating Reek as a real dog, teaching him obedience, making him learn tricks and generally debasing him thoroughly.

« No, stand up. » 

In the dim cellar, Lord Ramsay took out collar and leash and threw them away. He took a whiff, wrinkled his nose and considered Reek with disgust. 

_Oh, that game_.

« You _reek_ more every day. Keeping you in the kennels will spoil my girls' sense of smell. Even the pigs would oust you from the sty. I take time away from my lordly duties to bathe you myself, yet your stink is fouler every day. It's like you're rotting alive. You make me want to throw up, Reek. »

_Well, you didn't let me wash for weeks. I'm drowning in my own sweat, piss and shit. What did you expect ?_

_...Be careful, be very careful. Give him what he wants._

Lord Ramsay took a step forward. He grabbed Reek and began to smell him up and down like a hunting dog would do before tearing the game apart. 

« I'm disgusting my lord, not even a man, not even a dog, just muck under your boots, Thank you for keeping me alive, I don't deserve it. »

Lord Ramsay holding him close and feeling him crudely was enough to make Reek's tone convincing. It was terrifying. And yet his master had to seize him by the hair and force his head up to look him in the eyes, scanning him thoroughly, searching for every little inkling of a lie.

 _I would never lie to you, my lord, I know the cost of it._  
_But what of you ?_

Before his boys or the Dreadfort's servants, slurs were just that, words said to hurt him, to remind him of his lower than low status, and to amuse Lord Ramsay and his cronies. But when they were alone...

Ramsay's voice was thick now, full of ardour and refrained desire, even as his words were cruel.

« Take off your clothes. »

Lord Ramsay hadn't raped his Reek since he treated him like a pet, no more than he would have raped a dog. But is there any logic in a madman ?

_Don't think that or he will know, your Lord is kind and merciful, that's all._

« Don't move. »

Lord Ramsay let him wait shivering, and came back in a heartbeat, his hands behind his back. Reek froze, thinking whip or knife.

Flowers. It was flowers. A little crown like the maidens wore at the spring festivals. They smelled fresh and sweet among the decay. Lord Ramsay smiled and put it softly on Reek's hair.

Last time, he had forced him to drink a full flagon of perfume till Reek passed out. That was better. Reek tried to piece it together, to make sense of what his life has become. To chase away madness.

« Sit beside me, Reek. » Ramsay dabbed the leather bunk which sat in the corner, probably meant for a gaoler. 

He put an arm around Reek's shoulders, his other hand on a scrawny thigh. Reek felt like a stripling being held by a man grown, Lord Ramsay was so much stronger than him now. And yet the gesture was hesitant, as if his owner was not sure of what to do. _You could cut my throat, order your bitches to rip me to shreds, rape me to death, or just anything you like m'lord. Reek, Reek, Reek... stop that._

« We could sleep here, it's tight but we can squeeze together and keep each other warm for the night, don't you think ? » _Think? I don't think, m'lord, I just serve and obey._ Lord Ramsay's voice was odd, like he got sore throat, and broken in different tones. « Yes m'lord. Do you want me to serve you, m'lord ? » Reek's voice was tremulous and squeaky from fear. 

Lord Ramsay seized him by the hair and forced him to turn his head and face him. His eyes were full of spite and hatred again. _I don't know what you want, please tell your Reek. I don't know that game._

« Put the torch out and just lay down. » His master's voice calmed down and went back to the usual growl.

Reek sneaked on the bunk, Lord Ramsay's thick form already filled it so he had to snuggle against him unless he will fall. He knew he would pray eagerly for dawn to come.

A sinewy arm enclosed him, a hand set the flowery crown upright on his head. A thick leg slipped between his own, a warm foot rubbed against his maimed toes.

Ramsay _giggled._

« Your feet are cold. » That odd voice again. Like if Ramsay was a boy his age. Well, he was. Not a boy, though, a man grown. And Reek was just his creature. He shook his head in obedience in the dark.

Ramsay whispered in his ear, excited : « It's the first time we sleep together ». Well, Reek had spent many a night with his master, but sleep he scarce did. More like howl, plead, and cry.

« Tomorrow we will go hunting, I'll show you the good spots in the woods. » Reek stiffened, desperate. _That's it._

« Maybe some squirrels, or hares.   
\- If you wish, m'lord. » _He's going mad, I thought I understood it all, but what now ?_

He felt a blow on his thigh, not a vicious one, more like the friendly ones he exchanged with the Stark boys in another life. He froze, terrified by the thought. 

« You think you can command me because you're older, said Ramsay in his strange, keen, broken voice, but I'm your Lord and you're just a pig boy.  Someday I will own all the lands around the Dreadfort.  
\- Of course m'lord, I would never,.. I'm just your Reek, please...  
Ramsay put a hand on his mouth to shut him out, not unkindly, then his hand went to Reek's protruding ribs and began to scratch lightly, to _tickle_. Reek kept totally still and silent.

« Heke, he whispered, in a boyish voice, Heke.  
\- My name is Reek m'lord, Reek, I know my name. It rhymes with weak. » Reeks voice was just a quavering wail, insistent and whiny.  
_Please don't make me change my name again, I just learned who I am, I don't want to forget, I don't want to go mad._

_Obey or he will flay you, it's just another game, obey._

« Yes, Reek, Heke. My father thought it was a good way to mock me, to give me a stinking gross servant, but we know better, isn't it Heke? »

Instead of hitting him and dragging him straight to the dungeons, Lord Ramsay just kept on ranting, in his new boy's voice. There was some sort of joyous, innocent tone to his blabbering.

_T'is just another game, and it seems to make him happy, so play along if you want to keep your skin._

« You'll show me new tricks, and I will teach you some games, too.   
\- Of course, m'lord.  
\- Did you ever lay with girls, Heke ?  
\- N..no m'lord, Reek had never...  
\- Liar, I heard what they say about you!  
\- W..what do they say, m'lord ?  
\- That you prefer when they lay very still and cold, like... like they can't shun you anymore, ya know ? »  
Boyish Ramsay chortled eagerly.

And then his tone changed, back to his old self:  
« Don't be so passive, Reek, go on, touch me, Heke is older than me, I'm just a boy, you know. »  
_He's playing a role... like me when I played Theon Greyjoy that one time... and he wants me to be that other boy, his servant Heke... But I can't, I can't..._  
He tried clumsily to touch his master, to hold him, but the thought of how he, no, Theon, had his way with girls, he couldn't, he could no more even for his life, Lord Ramsay had flayed and cut this part of him for once, the man in him, don't think about that! Even when Ramsay hadn't raped him brutally, he always asked exactly what he wanted from his Reek. He retched, and began to weep softly.

Boy Ramsay gave him a light jab in the ribs, and laughed:  
« No, no, Heke, you're such a wanton slut, we're just boys, what are you trying to do ? »  
He resumed his tickling, till Reek asked for mercy.  
« Heke, Heke, you can put flowers in your hair and drink perfume, you still smell of manure. You reek.»  
He had a good hearty laugh, and pushed his head affectuously into Reek's bony breast, among patched skin.

 _He had another Reek. I'm not the first one. That is why I'm still alive in this hellhole._  
The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.  
He recalled vaguely hearing tales of Ramsay letting his beloved servant die to save his own life.

 _He doesn't hate me, he wants me for a friend._ That made it all the more frightening. 

« Put your arms around me Heke, asked boy Ramsay, it's cold and dark down there. »  
Reek remembered two boys sharing a bed a long time ago. The younger one was afraid of the dark, and asked the other to hold him in his arms. He was afraid too, freshly taken from his family and his islands. But he was older and couldn't show his fear. It was all innocent, and years later they would share the same girls.

He put his arms around his master, and Ramsay uttered a contented sigh. « Heke » and put his head on his shoulder. His cold eyes closed behind his long dark hair, and then he was just a boy.

*****

In the naked room in Volantis, Ramsay slapped him, then he kissed him and sucked the blood on his lips.

« It's a sweet attention for your master, my sweet Reek. I bought a gift for you too, »

Reek waited, head down, with flowers in his hair. He recognized the metal tingling. Chains.  
_Chains are cold at first, then they warm against my body. And there is a ring in the wall to fasten them, like in every house in this slaver's city._

« Thank you master. Now nobody will take me away from you again. »


	7. Chapter 7

Days and nights merged into an indiscriminate blend. Ramsay had decided that Reek was too fat, so he almost didn't feed him anymore. Plus they didn't have anything to eat as they'd been locked together for several days in the shuttered room.

It stank of blood, sweat, piss and cum. The chain was long enough for Reek to tidy it the best he could, it was his duty, but his own smell seem to be the dirtiest thing in the small enclosed space. Ramsay slept on the messed up bed, Reek in a corner as he should.

Outside children squealed and harridans bawled at them. Nobody seemed to be disturbed by Reek's cries and pleads.

Hunger and loss of blood made him very feeble again. Sometimes he couldn't remember where he was. His only anchor was Ramsay's hand and the rhythmic glimmer of his blade in the candlelight. In flashes, the room became the gruesome dungeon where he had suffered and died to be reborn as Reek, then the dismal cell where he fed himself on rats, then the little room in decaying Volantis again. 

« Open your mouth, Reek » He obeyed mindlessly. Whether Ramsay's cock, a piece of stale bread, a gag or irons pincers were going in made no matter since he learned his name. A metal thingy rang against his last teeth. He remembered that he had disobeyed and had the rotten ones taken out when he thought his lord was dead.

Something slimy clogged his throat and he coughed. Ramsay tapped on his back.  
« Swallow.»  
It was thick and sweet. Ramsay took the spoon away and Reek closed his eyes and nuzzled upon his master's hand. The spoon clanked against some crockery, repeatedly.  
« Open. »  
Honey. Way better than chicken bones when you had few teeth left. Chicken bones kept you occupied longer though.  
« Swallow. »  
Reek licked the spoon eagerly. Someone hummed softly in his ears, maybe himself. Ramsay held him by the neck, upon the collar, and stuffed him to nausea. He shivered.  
He remembered that somehow, at some point, Lord Ramsay had become the only source of feed, warmth and comfort in a sea of searing pain. 

The spoon clanked on the plate and Ramsay opened Reek's mouth almost to dislocation. He shoved three of his fingers up his throat. They were still coated with honey. Reek retched and licked, on his knees.

Suddenly the fingers were replaced by Ramsay's cock. It smelled of piss and sweat and he rammed it hard into his throat. Old habits kicked in and Reek gulped it to the hilt, minding his few teeth left. 

Ramsay stabbed him like his cock was a knife, quick and harsh. He didn't even bother to hold his head, Reek sputtered, drooled and choked but knew better than to recoil. He locked his eyes on the other man's, like he had been taught at great cost.

Ramsay's thick lips dribbled with slaver and filth alike, cruel words made to defile and hurt. But his voice was low and sweet like a lover's. Reek wanted to surrender, to be only a sheath to his master's cock, but a brutal hand seized his dark hair, stopped his moves and held him close, smothering him. Reek threw up honey, bile and pre-cum alike, almost blacked out but held on.

Ramsay pulled his pet away, slapped him curtly and resumed stuffing his mouth. The terror Reek felt of having him use his torn up hole again and his desperate attempts to finish him with his mouth finally went to his master's cock. He came eagerly in his pet's mouth.

He swooped the plate from the floor and flipped it over Reek's hair and face. Vomit, snot, honey and cum rolled along the pet stupid grin.

They lay together in the soiled bed. Reek's right arm was striped with regular lines of blood from last night, shoulder to wrist. Just nice cuts, blurred together with dry rivulets. 

Ramsay let the flat of his knife slip along his pet's left forearm, under the carefully flayed Bolton design. He seized Reek's mangled hand and put his mouth on his wrist, licking upward. His tongue stopped to feel some secret raised lines on his pet's skin. Reek's body was a mess, but when Ramsay had fled Winterfell and left his pet in the little cell, it's arms had still been mostly spared by the knife.

« You did that yourself, why ? »  
« It soothes me. »

Ramsay went to open the window. People were quarrelling outside and the day was already moist and hot. Volantis smelled like an old unwashed whore. Like me, Reek thought.

He wanted them to die together in the little room, but he dared not ask Ramsay. 

*****

  
«It won't be long,  I'll bring something to eat,»  
He left his Reek in the sweltering room, chained to the wall. _Water. He forgot._


	8. Chapter 8

Reek felt light-headed from thirst, hunger and loss of blood. He couldn't tell if it was just a heartbeat or long hours since Ramsay left the room. 

Voices outside clattered, a woman with a crude use of the common tongue, a man in a low growl. He couldn't make sense of his words, yet the tone was familiar and brought back unpleasant memories. 

The worn-out door opened slightly and a shadow stole inside. The man took some time to adjust to the dim light. Not Ramsay, he would have bulled into the room and called for him. Reek understood he was in grave danger, but he was tightly chained to the wall.

« You smell of piss again, my old friend Reek. »

Sour Alyn's voice, a mean, brutish ghost of his past. Cruel, but not very smart. He remembered a foul breath as his legs were spread and pushed upward, and his head banged against a dank wall, knocking him out mercifully.

« Where is your master, he couldn't be far from his creature ? We wait for him together. You're worth nothing Reek, so if you keep quiet I promise I won't hurt you, but if you call I cut your throat. Winterfell offers a good reward in golden dragons for the Bastard's skin. » 

The voice was menacing, yet Reek heard Alyn was deeply afraid. Not of the powerless creature of course, but of Ramsay, and rightly so. 

*****

A pitiful whine was filling the room. Ramsay knew that sound: the wail of a beast caught in a snare. He put down his purchase, took his knife from his belt and kicked the door.

« Master ? »

Reek was half seated, held up by his chain. A man was having seizures on the floor, a little knife stuck in a bloody eye.

Ramsay took it off, wiped it on Alyn's clothes, and pushed the wretch with his boot. He didn't try to question him, the only thing to go out of his mouth now would be blood. He didn't bother to finish him either. He noted he wore the colours of an obscure sellsword company.

« Good old Alyn, not very bright, ain't you ?  That bitch of a neighbour is a pitiful liar too, I knew something was going awry. Too bad her wretched skin is too pimpled to join my stash. »

He knelt down next to his Reek and gave him some fresh water from a waterskin.

« I promised to take him to the bank to give him gold if he opened my fetters. Thank you for letting me keep a knife. »  
« Well, even a pet needs to cut his meat, especially a toothless one like you. »  
Ramsay laughed and put a light kiss on Reek's cheek.  
« Do not dare use it on yourself. Your skin is mine »

They had a sweet diner together and drank some wine to the rattle of the dying man. 

« I heard you can make a fortune bringing back saffron and spices from the Jade Sea, my sweet Reek, is that true ? » Ramsay's tone was soft but dark and ominous. Reek nodded.

« I bought some clean clothes for you, for a little mummer's show. It will be the last time, I promise. You know your role, ain't it pet ?   
\- Theon Greyjoy. »


	9. Chapter 9

Ramsay wore rich clothes again, samite and silk, under a grey linen hooded cloak. With just a touch of pink on the tunic's sleeves. He had to restrain himself for discretion.  
Lordly enough, but still tacky, thought a last fragment of Theon's mind.

Most important was his large leather belt to hide the gold. The rest was in a trunk chained to the carriage. They didn't have to walk through the city like smallfolks anymore. _Well, his master didn't._

Reek was chained to the carriage too, but still wore his Theon disguise and a hood. He shivered despite the heat. Should Ramsay decide to strip him naked, nobody here would bat an eyelid. As soon as you were chained you were a slave, you became nothing but an object.

The visit to the guildhall had been short and easy, just time enough to play the merchant and empty his coffer.  
Ramsay was waiting outside, tense.  
_I was their captain, the brother to their queen, make sense I have the key and their trust._  
« Well played my Reek. You're a born traitor.»  
_I deserve you._

They had left the room early in the morning, after Reek had been cleaned up and dressed. The corpse had already begun to stink. 

His master was concerned that there were other rats looking for him. Maybe Alyn had blabbed to other sellswords when in his cups, or maybe another of his old boys had weaseled himself out of Westeros.

They took nothing but their clothes. And Ramsay's gruesome trophies, brought all the way from the Dreadfort, were slipped inside his tunic. Soft, jagged pieces of thin skin carefully wrapped in linen.They were named the same as his dogs. He loved to show them to his Reek back then. He even allowed him to touch them carefully. Especially the Kyra piece, because Reek had known the girl when she was alive. 

*****

Reek was collared and chained , his ankles shackled with a short fetter. His gait was clumsy again now that he was barefoot. Thirst, hunger and weariness were his friends again, they chained his bad thoughts and kept him in the moment. A slave had no mind of his own, no choices, no hopes and above all, no regrets. His master will take care of it all. He felt quiet, despite the crowd that rushed in the streets of the big city in Essos. 

In Volantis, nine out of ten people were slaves. They could have easily overthrown and slaughtered the masters. If fact they had years ago, and they had burnt entire parts of the city. But now the situation was back to normal, because when you are used to it is easier to be a slave than a free man.

They passed through a large portal and into a shady yard. The place was crowded with slaves, chained like him, they smelled of fear, misery and unwashed bodies. They formed in a line that crawled slowly to a stolid man seated behind a small table. Ramsay gave the man a roll of parchment. He studied it with apathy, then stamped it and showed his master a passage to a second yard. Another group of slaves already shambled in front of the scribe, mostly women and mewling babes.

To be a slave you had to be born one, being captured in war or have nonrefundable debts. So Ramsay had made Theon sign for an enormous sum, before he gave all his gold to Ramsay. It seemed nobody cared if it was under duress.

« There are thralls on your barren, squalid islands, ain't it ? Ramsay had ranted mockingly while he was playing the ironborn captain. Their children become free, if I remember well. Oh... but I forgot that you can't have sons anyway. So slave it will be for you, Reek. »

_Then you will have to keep me forever, because nobody will want to buy a Reek._

****

  
Ramsay led the carriage under another portal. The second yard was almost empty.  
A big tatooed slave sat in a corner with a stiletto in hand.

Ramsay ripped Reek's tunic with his knife. He waited, on his knees, while the man finished his work on a woman's face with a long needle. She wept and cried, and blood stained the cobblestones.

Then the man showed Ramsay a piece of parchment with different patterns and his master pointed one. The man was startled. He squinted at the wretched creature, then he shrugged. He chained Reek's collar and fetters tight to a ring on the ground, and bound a thick rag over his eyes. He chose another long needle, inked it and pierced Reek's left cheek. 

« Don't move, cooed Ramsay in his ear. You don't want your master to flay that mark on your face instead, pet ? » His voice was thick and dark and his cock hard, Reek knew. It hurt, but not in the maddening way that makes you plead to cut it off and ask for death. More like the peaceful pain he felt when he hurt himself to stop his mind from reeling.

When the man finished the second cheek, the cloth was damp with salt tears, and Reek's breast wet with blood tears. The cloth was taken off and he was blind for a heartbeat. Then he saw his master put some coins in a jar, and the man gesture to explain that his hands had to stay bound to avoid scratching.

*****

Ramsay cut through Reek's breeches and turned them into rags again. He looked quiet and happy, as if Reek's bleeding had purged him from his own bad, black blood. 

Before he chained him back to the carriage he took a long look at his wretched creature, slid a thick finger in his mouth and whispered: « Whore. »

Reek remembered the tears tattooed on the slavegirl's face in the inn.


	10. Chapter 10

The night was sweet and fragrant. It was their last in Volantis. With Theon's gold, Ramsay had bought a manse outside the sweltering city, on the hills in the middle of olive groves. 

As they strolled on the Long Bridge, almost desert and still alight with colored lanterns, Ramsay blabbered about his new fortune, listening to himself. Like each time he had brought Theon lower and himself on top, he acted touchy-feely with his Reek. 

They had spent the last night in a comfortable room. Reek had slept better than Theon had in years. He had no need for nightmares now, the creature that haunted his nights was beside him. Ramsay fell asleep inside him, and woke him by taking him roughly. Reek didn't care for buggering in any form since his lord took everything from him, he just served, and Ramsay had to be content with rising pain, fear and shame. 

When Reek had snuggled against him, Ramsay had left a hand wander lightly all over the ravaged body. He loved that his slave held no secret for him, body and mind.

Reek had learned to crave his touch. It soothed him, like cutting himself, like fucking had soothed Theon's worries in the past. Before Ramsay's dark mood will inevitably come back and he will need to hurt somebody. Somebody close to him.

Somehow Ramsay found a soft spot on his belly, a little place that knife, whip or burns had forgotten. He stayed at it for a long time, like he was petting a dog. Reek let go and was almost back to sleep when Ramsay asked: « Do you know why that feels so good ? »  
As oft he didn't wait for an answer.  
« It's for the same reason that flaying is so hurtful. Skin. I love your skin.» His voice was thick and warm. Reek shuddered.

*****

Walking on the bridge with his slave in tow, charged with chains, passing by indifferent volantenes, made Ramsay happy. 

He went on and on with his blabbering.

« The estate is worthy of me, and I will buy slaves to work on the land. I can even have a mill built to press my own oil. »

_Talk about a return to your roots, my lord. Your father always said his bastard'd better stay in his mother's mill to grind corn instead of trying to play the lord._

« There is a whole basement reserved for slaves. But you will alway be my special one, Reek. »

«  And if you ever try to run away again, I'll chain you in the dark and let you rot forever.  
\- Master I _chose_ to be here.  I have no place to runaway».  
For once Ramsay couldn't find anything to reply.

« I'll buy some horses and maybe a couple dogs. »

_Of course tormenting your Reek is not enough for you._

_How much time before you choose to hunt a different game, my lord ?_

_I can't have you hunting slaves._

He thought of the little knife he kept to cut his meat. A dangerous thought. A Theon thought.

« What is it, Reek ?

Ramsay forced his chin up, as to look into his cold eyes. Reek's were always transparent to his lord, he couldn't hide anything from him and lying always ended with a finger less. 

He seemed satisfied with his slave's blank stare and touched his cheeks lightly, stroking a little inked tear.

That was when Reek saw them, in a heartbeat. Unknown louts bearing unknown colours, faces hungry for gold, emerged from the dark behind Ramsay.

He grasped his master and kissed him fiercely. His maimed hands felt surprisingly strong.

Reek's eyes were wide open and vacant, only reflecting the light in his face, but Ramsay read them anyway. It made him seize his pet brutally to turn and shield behind him. 

There was a _thrum_ , and Ramsay's face exploded in blood. Then a second one, and for the first time ever, Reek didn't feel any pain.


End file.
